


Behind A Closed Door

by Nicxan



Category: The Stanley Parable
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-02 23:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5268248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicxan/pseuds/Nicxan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He just wanted out. Isn't that what the Narrator wanted, too?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Stanley stepped out of his office, he always spared a glance towards the first door on his left.

It was just the same as every other door nearby -- '428.' Just another employee's office.  Nothing distinguished it in any way, shape, or form. His coworkers had passed by it almost every day without a second thought.

He stared at it for a moment. Once he heard the Narrator start to speak, he moved on. He probably wouldn’t get anywhere, anyhow; that door had only opened one time. It had never opened again, and it probably wouldn’t.  
  
That didn’t mean, however, that he didn’t think about that time often.

* * *

  
He had felt exceptionally skittish one day. Stanley had gotten accustomed to the varied openers the Narrator had in store once he stepped outside of his office. It varied from mentioning the obvious -- that his coworkers were gone -- to finally seeing real weather. Then, the Narrator mentioned someone following him. That if he just turned around and looked, he'd see them.

His hairs stood on end for the rest of that walk through the office. He had looked over his shoulder every few seconds. The silences when his Narrator said nothing seemed much more amplified than before. Who was following him? How long had they been doing so? It was almost overwhelming. Once he had arrived at his boss' office, he knew he was shaking. This had become too overwhelming, too much for him to bear. How could he face his boss after he had left his post?

No. He couldn't.

Stanley had forced himself to take a few steps through the door, but he quickly backed out before the doors shut behind him as they always did. The Narrator had the door open at this point, telling him to 'just go.' Then, the doors had shut with Stanley outside.

He waited for quite some time. The Narrator said nothing to him. He had received no taunting quotes, no pleas to continue, nothing. The idea of a voice being trapped inside a room seemed alien to Stanley. He had tried to open the doors to his boss' room; regret had set in by that point. However, there was no response: not from the handles or his Narrator.

He was alone.

That's when he began to wander. Once he had realized there was no going forward, he had turned back. Stanley went back down the stairs, back into the office. The doors that had been shut beforehand had been reopened by some unknown force. It couldn't have been the Narrator; Stanley somehow felt that he was not with him. He couldn’t shake his uneasiness. Whatever silence was there before just felt even worse now. Was someone still following him? He couldn't tell.

Stanley found himself almost back at his room in nearly no time at all. He was about to walk inside, but then paused. He looked at the door on his right -- one that had never been opened before. Stanley let himself peer inside. There was nothing but blackness. He considered ignoring it, just going back into his room and waiting for commands. He'd be able to push the buttons eventually, surely.

Another part of him, however, told him to venture to the great unknown. It was a new path. A new destination. Since there was no Narrator to goad him, it felt like this was one of the more obvious choices. He took a deep breath, and took that one step forward.

He ascended the stairs. His work shoes against the metal stairs made a loud clang. It was loud enough to break the silence he had finally gotten used to, and Stanley winced. He found himself rushing up the stairs so the noise wouldn't last as long.

Once he reached the top, Stanley narrowed his eyes. It was an elevator -- not unlike the one across from his Boss' office. Any attempts to make it work were futile. After a few more seconds passed, he resigned to moving forward. He had only taken two steps forward when he saw the large sign.

_'YOU ARE NOW LEAVING.'_

Was it? Could it be an escape from the cycle? Stanley promptly picked up the pace. He hated the sound the stairs made, he despised it, but he powered through for the sake of being free. Just the idea elated him. It gave him hope. Whatever it took to get to that escape, he'd do it. His newfound determination didn't waver even as the light on the staircases grew dimmer and dimmer. Stanley fumbled in the dark at times, but he kept going.

He had to.

Once he reached the final floor, a sign caught his attention. The escape pod was just ahead. His eyes scanned the poster, and then paused at the bottom. Smaller text -- the most important kind of text on things like this -- had been scratched off. Stanley couldn't help it: he was curious. He crouched to read what he could. Once he got to the third line, his heart sank into his stomach.

_'Both the Narrator and Stanley must be present ...'_

His Narrator. He needed his Narrator for this to work properly. At this realization, Stanley simply sat down and stared ahead. The text blurred; he couldn't focus on that anymore. He was offered hope, and then it was taken away just like that. Even though he wasn't here, the Narrator probably would have taunted him for even trying this. He would have found this reaction hysterical, surely.

Hadn't he mentioned wanting to be free, though? Didn't he say this entire ... everything, this building -- hadn't the Narrator said it was killing them? He had to know about this option, so why were they still here?

Despair overtook him. At this point, any possible ending would be better than this. No one was around. No voices, no one telling him what to do, and no possible way back to how things should be. Stanley squeezed his eyes shut, and willed himself back to the office.

* * *

  
"... Stanley knew that the best thing to do with his time was to stare at a door. In fact, he was so enamored with the idea, that he decided to stand there for at least five minutes."

Stanley remained motionless. The Narrator cleared his throat after a few awkward moments of silence.

"It wasn't even an open door -- not something that could contribute to the story. On some level, Stanley knew that it was pointless, and yet he kept staring. Riveting." Stanley could just imagine the Narrator rolling his eyes by the last one-word sentence. How he wished he could tell his Narrator that he wasn’t the only one frustrated. Nor was he the only one capable of getting frustrated.  
  
For the first time in a very long while, Stanley snapped. He swiveled his head up to glare at the ceiling. The laugh he heard actually made his blood boil. He visibly tensed. That simple action just encouraged the Narrator’s tirade. “Stanley uselessly tried to express something called ‘anger.’ He didn’t know if it was his own free will, or someone attempting to turn him against the only person who would help him.”  
  
Didn’t the Narrator say to stand up for himself? Was that only when he wanted it to happen? No, if he was going to be mocked for every little thing -- no. He wasn’t going to stand for this. Not when it was something this important. If the Narrator wanted out, this was their chance. Stanley took a deep breath and waved towards the ceiling one more time. He had to get the Narrator’s attention again.  
  
“He then decided to flail around like an imbecile ... um. ... Stanley, what -- what are you doing?” Stanley began to rapidly sign. If the Narrator was so well-versed with words, surely he’d understand this. “I. ... I don’t know what you’re trying to do here. I’m confused.” His hand motions slowed to a stop. Admittedly, Stanley began to gape at nothing. Did his guide truly not know sign language? At all?  
  
 _‘So you can’t understand what I’m saying to you?’_  
  
“What is that?”  
  
 _‘For someone who knows words as well as you do, I figured you’d know this.’_  
  
“Stanley, I don’t understand.”  
  
Employee 427 had to suppress a smile as he signed his next few sentences. _‘I’m cursing at you and you have no idea.’_  
  
“Are you trying to make a point?” The bewilderment in the Narrator’s voice had gone back to his regular snarky tone. “It’s not working well.”  
  
He had to push his luck just a little more. Just a bit. If this what standing up for himself felt like, it felt really good. _‘Jackass.’_ Stanley heard an irritated sigh coming from above -- around -- everywhere. At that, he finally lowered his hands and looked back to the unmarked door. The Narrator had been pushed to his limits.   
  
“Okay, we’re not getting anywhere here. If you insist on wasting my time, then at least make sure I can understand what you’re trying to do. If you have something that important to say -- you don’t, by the way -- make it count.” Stanley took a deep breath to stifle his reinforced anger, and simply turned to walk back into his office. He was sure to leave the door open behind him, just so the Narrator wouldn’t trigger that one ‘ending.’   
  
No escape for him now.   
  
Stanley sat back down in his chair, and felt comfortable for a brief moment. He inhaled slowly, then exhaled. He took his time; he’d keep the Narrator waiting as long as he wanted. He reached for a sheet of scrap paper, and began to write. Once he finished, he held it up as high as he could.  
  
“Hold it a little to the left -- no, the right. Yes, right there. Now, let me see ...”  
  
 _‘That door near my office is always locked. Can you tell me anything about it?’_ The Narrator didn’t respond for several minutes. Stanley sat there holding up the paper. His knuckles had turned white, and if he wasn’t careful, the paper would rip. His heart pounded in his chest.   
  
The Narrator’s sudden sharp, icy tone caught him off-guard. “It’s none of your concern.” Stanley immediately lowered the paper and began writing again. “--No, stop ignoring me. LISTEN to me for once in your bloody life! Do not go into that door! Understand!?”   
  
_‘I’ve already been in it. It’s an escape route.’_ Stanley held the note in place as he was instructed to before. He heard a quiet ‘what,’ just barely loud enough to hear. He had heard his Narrator when he was distressed, upset, angry ... but never frightened. Not quite like that. Stanley’s firm grip on the paper wavered.  
  
“It ... it opened? When, no, that -- that should be impossible, I always keep that locked ...” Stanley heard some papers rustle, and gave the Narrator some time. He needed some for himself, anyways. If he worded this next part wrong, the Narrator would more than likely force a reset. Either that, or he’d shut Stanley out completely.

Once he was perfectly satisfied with his word choices, Stanley held up the next note to his Narrator.  
  
 _‘I know you talked about wanting to be free from all of this. You said it was killing us before. I went up there, and we both have to be present for that escape pod to work. If you want to escape, now’s our chance. Isn’t that something you still want, or is that just for more drama for one of the endings?’_  
  
Stanley heard a choked sound from the Narrator, but nothing more. He clearly read the note. Stanley frowned to himself and simply set the paper back down.  
  
“Let’s just get back to the story.” He felt a twinge of guilt at the Narrator’s pleading tone, but didn’t move.  
  
Stanley shook his head, and jotted down one more sentence. _‘You tell me why we can’t escape, and I’ll play your game again.’_   
  
“Stanley ...” He remained motionless. “There’s a reason I do everything I do, I _promise_. You just have to believe me.” Stanley shook his head side-to-side one more time. His hands were in his lap, and he stared straight ahead at the computer screen.   
  
“You’re really going to just sit there, aren’t you?” He nodded. The Narrator sighed quietly. “Fine.”  
  
Before Stanley could react any further, his entire world went black.


	2. Chapter 2

Stanley came to.   
  
He hadn’t received a command for what felt like an extremely long time. No one had been by to say ‘hello.’ Where were his co-workers? Where was anybody? He shook his head to regain his senses, then rose to his feet.   
  
... Wait.   
  
Had the game been restarted? He didn’t remember finding a resolution the last time around. In fact, Stanley couldn’t remember getting to the first ‘choice.’ He blinked a couple of times as a wave of confusion swept over him. No, he hadn’t gotten to the Mind Control Facility. He hadn’t gotten to the phone, or to his apartment.   
  
He heard the familiar voice overhead. “All of his co-workers were gone. What could it mean?” Stanley stood and decided to start moving forward. Maybe the answers would come to him later.   
  
He took a glance at the very first door on his left. He paused for a moment to stare at it.  
  
“Oh, no, no, _no_ , not this again. Stanley, I do not understand your fascination with that door. Let’s just move on.” The Narrator sounded more frantic than he should have, and that wasn’t a line he had heard before. Stanley almost took a step forward, but then he remembered.  
  
 _‘Escape.’_  
  
He promptly turned on his heel and walked back into his office.   
  
“Stanley, what are you -- no, put that pen down. I’m not going to read whatever drivel you’re writing right now.”   
  
Stanley ignored the voice and continued to write.   
  
_‘We need to talk about this. This is important.’_  
  
“Stanley, stop holding that up. I’m not going to read it!”  Stanley put in the extra effort to hold the paper higher. “You’re. Wasting. Your. Time.” He couldn’t tell if the Narrator was exasperated, or just desperate. Perhaps a mix of both? His voice was difficult to read.  
  
“Oh, for heaven’s sake ... We have things to do. Places to explore. And you’re standing there, holding up a useless sheet of paper, trying to get me off-track. I won’t fall for it. Not this time.”

Stanley did nothing.   
  
“Move _on_ , Stanley.”  
  
Stanley didn’t move.   
  
“... Be that way, then.” The contempt in the Narrator’s voice almost made him feel sick. Before he could react, though, everything turned black.   


* * *

  
He jolted back to reality. Or was it reality? He wasn’t quite sure anymore.  
  
“All of his co-workers were gone. What could it mean?” Stanley took a few moments to collect himself, then stood up. It was too soon -- he knew that much. Did he not make it out of his office? Did he shut the door on himself out of fear?  
  
No, not this time. Not the last time, or the time before that.   
  
He needed to do something, but his head felt hazy. Stanley turned to leave the office, but paused. ‘Escape. We need to escape.’ He didn’t walk outside, and thus, did not give the Narrator a chance to see him duck back inside. All Stanley did was quietly take a piece of paper and an already-sharpened pencil and begin to write.   
  
_‘I’m not going to do what you want until you just take a moment and talk with me. You’re not telling me why you’re ’_  
  
“Stanley.” The Narrator managed to convey a dire threat in the single word. “Put that paper down.” He knew he was on track for what must be another reset, but he didn’t stop. He kept writing.  
  
He blacked out again just a few seconds later. He heard one last sentence from his Narrator before losing consciousness.  
  
 _“You’ll forget eventually.”_


	3. Chapter 3

When Stanley opened his eyes, he didn't give himself time to adjust to his surroundings. The first thing he did was grab a sheet of paper and the sharpened pencil nearby. Just as he put the tip of the lead to the sheet, he paused.

The Narrator would restart the game if he caught Stanley doing this again, wouldn't he?

"Stanley never saw the office was brightly lit. He hoped it was a sign of something." Stanley froze. He wouldn't have time to write anything. Not now, at any rate. All he could think about were the worst-case scenarios. What if the Narrator just kept resetting? What if he got himself stuck in a cycle? He wanted to escape, but what could he do to not get cut off?

Then, Stanley got an idea.

He had to act quickly. The Narrator would notice if something was amiss (again). Stanley grabbed the pen nearby and stuffed it in his pocket. He took a couple of extra seconds to fold a piece of blank paper, and then tucked it into his shirt pocket. He’d play along for now; it was the only thing he could do.  
  
Stanley walked out of his office. It did seem just a bit brighter than before, which shocked him. He took a moment to look around, and averted his eyes away from 428’s door. He started his trek towards the familiar two doors. Did he hear the Narrator mumble ‘finally’, or was that his imagination? He wasn’t sure.   
  
He stared at the two doors in front of him.  
  
“When Stanley came to a set of two open doors, he entered the door on his left.”  
  
This choice was an important one. He weighed the consequences in his head; if he was suddenly compliant, wouldn’t the Narrator suspect something? Wouldn’t he realize something was odd? But on the other hand, if he was stubborn, he would probably stay angry. For a split moment, Stanley wasn’t sure what to do.  
  
“A-hem.”   
  
He went through the door on his right.   
  
“This was not the correct way to the meeting room, and Stanley knew it perfectly well. Perhaps he wanted to stop by the employee lounge first, just to admire it.” Stanley’s heart pounded in his chest. Did he pull out the paper now, or later? No, the Narrator would be able to see him write. He saw everything in there. Despite the late realization, Stanley pushed on. Even with the current situation, the familiar blue room provided some comfort. As he looked around, he couldn’t help but smile.   
  
He gave himself a moment to drink it all in. He even managed to tune out the Narrator’s irritated speech. Mostly. He’d have to leave eventually, however. He may as well make it sooner than later. Stanley forced himself to move on from the employee lounge.  
  
“... But eager to get back to business, Stanley took the first open door on his left.” Should he, though? Stanley looked at the door towards the meeting room, then to the door that lead to the cargo bay. Which would be wiser? Which would give him the best possible reaction? He stood there for quite some time considering his options. The Narrator was silent this time around, which made that much easier.   
  
Stanley was surprised at the fact that he got two ideas in one day. It was unheard of. The fact that it happened, however, made him feel on top of the world. Any doubt he had about escape faded. He had a plan -- whether it was a good one or not, it was _his_.  
  
He steeled himself, then walked through the door to the meeting room. He ignored the maintenance lift for the time being. How could it possibly be useful to him?   
  
He breezed through the meeting room; he had seen it all before. There wasn’t a single person there, he was stunned and horrified, he’d go up to his boss’ office, so on and so on. It was standard. At this point, his mind was clear and focused. He didn’t want anything distracting him or dissuading him from his goal.   
  
The Broom Closet came into view. He promptly opened the door and stepped inside.  
  
“Oh, no, nononononono, not again --” He didn’t remember doing it beforehand, but it was clearly a good idea. Stanley smiled to himself and kept his face towards the wall. The Narrator said he was going to wait for Stanley to be done, or something like that; he had tuned the man out forever ago.  
  
The moment his guide went silent, Stanley reached into his pockets for the paper and pen. He pressed up the crumpled sheet against the wall, and began to write.   
  
_‘I know you won’t listen to me, but I have to try. We have to really discuss this. This is probably the millionth time I’ve walked through here. Nothing’s ever changed. Nothing’s ever going to. We’re not going to be able to do anything else if we don’t try to get out of here. We’ll be stuck like this, as we are._  
  
 _Do you really just want to do this over and over again? Even when I’m freed, I’m back here a few seconds later. It’s not good for either of us. You have to understand that.’_   
  
He read it over a few times, just to be sure it was perfect. Once he was satisfied, he simply dropped the pen. He’d have it again if the game was reset, anyhow. Stanley gripped the sides of the paper, then stepped out of the broom closet.   
  
Then, he held it up towards the ceiling.   
  
“Oh, finally back, are y--” The Narrator sighed in frustration. “No.” Stanley stood on the tips of his toes to hold it higher. He had a stern look in his eyes and a determined expression. He had to get the Narrator to see what he said. He had to find a way.   
  
The game reset.


	4. Chapter 4

“Now, Stanley. Are you finished? Do you see now that I am the one in control of this world, no matter what you do? You can rebel all you like. You can bring your papers and pens if that makes you feel better.  
  
Well ... you’re moving now, I suppose. At least you’re actually doing something instead of wasting our time. But do you honestly think that I really care about what you have to say? I don’t.  
  
But if it makes you feel like you’re accomplishing something, I’ll play along.   
  
... Oh, you’re interrupting the story again. You’re writing. What a shocking development. It’s like you’re not hearing me at all.  
  
Restart.”  


* * *

  
“My goodness. you’re quite stubborn. Are you trying to make a point?   
  
Yes, I suppose you are. Why else would you keep trying? Why else would you keep pushing towards an impossible goal? It’s fascinating, really. You keep doing the same action and expecting a different result each time. There’s a word for that, you know.  
  
...   
  
I see. You’d rather get back to that closet. You think that will work? Yes, the boards. I know you’re shocked. What will you do now? Oh, your plan was so _brilliant_ , it’s a shame. But you can think of something else, I’m sure.  
  
No? Oh, it’s all right. I’ll spare you the effort.  
  
Restart.”  


* * *

  
“This is pointless. Or do you not care about that?  
  
Let me try again to tell you the truth.  
  
You can put down whatever words you want. They’ll never be good as mine. No matter what you say, Stanley, that will not change. You’re not going to say just the right words, simply because that is my job. That is what I do for you. You’re not turning the tables, you’re not proving yourself worthy. No.   
  
What you’re doing is fighting a hopeless battle. One you cannot win. One you will not win. No matter how much time passes, it will be the same cycle.   
  
You just won’t admit it.  
  
...   
Restart.”  


* * *

  
“Are you really still trying to get me to read those?  
  
I don’t know what to say anymore. I’m not sure if I should be impressed or annoyed. ... No, no. I’m annoyed. I’ve tried to tell you over and over what will happen: nothing. Why aren’t you paying attention? Do you think ignoring it will make it go away?  
  
I’m doing what I’m supposed to do. Can you see that I am just trying to make sure things stay in order? Or are you too selfish to understand?   
  
...   
  
Stop holding those up. I’m not going to read them.   
And I know you’re just going to stand there until I do.   
  
Restart.”  


* * *

  
“I’m starting to think you’re beyond hope.   
  
You have to trust me. I realize this is difficult. You have every reason not to, when I really think about it. Right now, I am trying to get you to see what you need to see.   
  
You can’t keep running away forever, Stanley. You can’t keep running from the truth. For the love of God, put the pen away. After all, you’re only moments away from death. Why not go out peacefully?  
  
I don’t know what you were thinking when you turned on the mind control, honestly. It was perhaps the worst idea you’ve had yet.  
  
Oh well.   
It’s a restart either way.”  


* * *

  
“Why are you still doing this!?  
  
What do you have to prove? What is this grand plan you have in mind? I almost want to hear, but I know it won’t be good for either of us. I’ve said it a hundred times, and yet you still won’t listen.   
  
You think I want to read what you’ve written now!? We’re trapped in a room, with a screen -- a screen that’s trying to dictate how I should run my game! And now you, too!   
  
... No. Oh, no, I know what you’re doing now.  
  
I am _not_ restarting. I am not -- I am not, I am not!  
I am not going to resta--”  


* * *

  
“I’m amazed you went through the left door, since you haven’t been listening to me at all. Yes, Stanley, I see that pen in your pocket. The paper’s sticking out, too. Not so clever, are you?  
  
I’m tempted just to restart now when I notice the pen. It’d save more time than letting you half-heartedly walk through what I have in mind for you. Do you remember that? Do you remember all the time I spent to make an entire story for you? An entire world?  
  
And you want to leave it all behind. For what? A dream? A fantasy?  
  
I’ll stop you either way. It doesn’t matter to me.  
Restart.”  


* * *

  
“I can do this all day.   
  
Time doesn’t mean anything to me. It doesn’t mean anything to this world. We could spend an eternity resetting. No matter how much you push, it will be the same. You haven’t considered that, have you?  
  
Oh, if you could see your face right now. It’s priceless. Yes. It’s all hopeless. All this energy you’ve been using has gotten you nothing. Awful, isn’t it? I wish I had a camera to capture this. It’s exquisite.  
All you’ve been missing is freedom. You’re the only one that’s suffering for this, Stanley. I have nothing to lose -- nothing at all.  
  
And that’s why I can keep restarting.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Stanley sat at his desk.  
  
He knew he needed to move eventually. He heard the Narrator give his opening line. Yet, a crushing sense of hopelessness seemed to consume him. It was impossible to stand up, never mind walk anywhere. He simply stared at the monitor in front of him, with his arms in his lap.   
  
“Stanley could feel nothing but despair. He sat, paralyzed with fear, unable to--”  
  
Stanley forced himself to stand up, and he blocked out the rest of whatever the Narrator happened to be saying. He had grabbed a pen before he even realized what he was doing. He hesitated once his hand gripped the edge of the paper.  
  
Was it even worth it to bring that along with him? After all, the Narrator had nothing to lose. He made this point clear. Every time he tried to reach out, it ended with him being forced back into his office. The Narrator hadn’t wavered by much, if at all. Stanley frowned, but took the pen and paper anyhow. It was a simple act of rebellion -- something to spite the Narrator. That, in and of itself, was enough.  
  
He heard a quiet exasperated sound from above as he walked out of the office. For a brief moment, it made him feel like his choices actually mattered.  
  
The latest walk through the office was a blur. He heard the Narrator’s words, but he managed to tune it out. Once he got to the two doors, he instinctively went through the right one instead of the left. Stanley smiled to himself when he heard the Narrator’s irritated grumbles. If he couldn’t escape, he’d be as much of a nuisance as possible.  
  
He took his sweet time in the hallway. It felt like the ideal time to peer into every window, try every door. When he got to the employee lounge, he spent as much time as he could in there. He messed with the vending machine and adjusted the crooked pictures. He opened and closed the blinds. He even stood around and just looked at the floor for a while.   
  
The prolonged silence from the Narrator felt like a blessing. After all, he had run out of things to say a long time ago. It allowed Stanley’s mind to wander. He furrowed his eyebrows as he stacked the few mugs in the lounge on top of each other. Once he arranged them to his liking, he paused.  
  
He got one more idea. He hoped it was a good one, because it was the last thing he could think of. A last-ditch effort. Even if it didn’t work, he’d only end up at the beginning again. He had to try. At this point, he didn’t have anything to lose either.   
  
“Ahem.” The unexpected voice jolted him out of his train of thought. “Stanley had been standing in this room for what felt like days now. Upon hearing the narrator speak once again, Stanley realized that whatever point he was trying to make had been made, and that he could move on.”  
  
He had finally pushed his luck; it was time for him to go. Stanley took a deep breath and left the employee lounge.  
  
“...After he had enough of the amazing room, Stanley --” His stride didn’t waver. Stanley walked right past the door towards the cargo lift. He heard that door shut behind him. The Narrator talked about how he was horrible at following directions. Nothing new.   
  
He didn’t want to admit how quickly his heart pounded or the way his hands shook. His breaths had become more ragged and erratic. Yes, there was a risk of him missing the catwalk and dying. The Narrator would probably assume that was the reason behind his nervous demeanor.   
  
When he landed on the platform, he stumbled. He gripped the edge of the rail to steady himself, then moved forward. He ignored the dull pain in his ankle.  
  
“... do you have zero consideration for others!? Are you that convinced I want something bad to happen to you?” Stanley grit his teeth and kept walking. He rounded the corner and descended down the stairs carefully. He winced when he took a step wrong; the throbbing ache in his foot got worse.   
  
He had to ignore it. He had to. Stanley slowed his pace as he got to the two doors. He looked between them for a moment, then frowned.  
  
“... Look, let me prove it. Let me prove that I’m on your side. Give me a chance.” The Narrator cleared his throat. “Now, listen carefully, this is important. Stanley walked through the red door.” The blue and red doors swung open before him. He briefly considered going through the blue door just to spite the Narrator.   
  
He decided against it. Stanley took a deep breath and walked through the red door.  
  
“Oh thank God, you are willing to listen to me.” He always felt a brief twinge of guilt when he heard that. Now, it just made his heart sink. “Do you see that I really have wanted you to be happy all this time? The problem is all these choices, the two of us always trying to get somewhere that ...” Stanley fiddled with the pen in his pocket with a frown on his face.   
  
He wandered through the looping hallway as the Narrator talked. Stanley couldn’t stop thinking, _‘Was this too far, even for me? Would it sour the friendship we have if I go through with this? Even if it did work, what then? What would we do after that?’_  
  
“... Don’t you see that it’s killing us, Stanley?” Stanley froze in front of the door. He stared at his feet. “I just ... I want it to stop.” He never realized how tired the Narrator sounded once he got to this point. He hadn’t really taken the time to notice. “I would -- we would both be so much happier if we just ... stopped.” A wave of regret almost overwhelmed Stanley, and he simply stood in place. The Narrator sighed quietly. He didn’t hear anything for a moment; Stanley briefly wondered if the Narrator had caught onto what he planned. He felt himself tense up.   
  
“And I think--” The spark was back in his voice. “--Well, I think I have a solution. Here, let me show you.”  
  
He couldn’t turn back. He had made his choices.   
  
Stanley walked through the open door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what if I told you all that Stanley!muse literally would not leave that employee lounge for five days. Because I am upset. Here it is, though, should be smooth sailing from here.


	6. Chapter 6

“Hmmm ... what do we want? What are we looking for ... hm?”   
  
Stanley felt rooted to the spot. His knees shook violently. He couldn’t work up the strength to simply walk forward. The room the Narrator loved so much was at the end of this hall, and then he would be happy. He would tell Stanley that he could be happy, too. All they had to do was stay here, he’d say. They just had to stay in that room.   
  
He wouldn’t be able to listen, of course. He knew that it was only temporary. Stanley took a deep breath and forced himself to move ahead.  
  
“Here! Yes! Oh, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”  
  
He had to admit: it was beautiful. Once he stepped inside, he felt some of his anxieties melt away. He glanced up at the ‘sky’ and he couldn’t help but feel content. The lights in the starry dome slowly came to life: blue orbs floated across the sea of stars all around him as peaceful music played softly in the background. As he watched, he felt his shoulders go slack.   
  
“If we just stay right here, right in this moment, with this place ... Stanley, I think I feel ... happy. I actually feel happy.” He would never get used to that quiet little laugh the Narrator had. The sheer giddiness in his voice just sounded foreign to him.   
  
Stanley decided to indulge his guide for a while. The atmosphere had been tense for the both of them, and it wouldn’t hurt to relax. He sat down on the smooth floor and continued to stare.   
  
The scenery before him kept him entranced for what felt like forever. The shifting colors and shining lights made Stanley smile, and he found himself tracing whatever patterns he could find in the stars above. He shifted to move some of the pressure off of his sprained ankle. Just as he got settled, he felt the pen in his pocket dig into his thigh. Stanley winced.  
  
He couldn’t avoid this forever. Eventually, he would have to pull out the pen and paper to make his thoughts known. The longer he waited, the more painful it would be. Stanley steeled himself and began to reach for the paper in his pocket.  
  
“... Stanley?” Stanley froze. The Narrator never spoke in here until he wandered off. “... You’ve never stayed this long before. Not in this room. ... Thank you.” He sounded so grateful -- so sincere. Stanley’s heart sunk, and he felt a lump in his throat. He withdrew further into himself as he listened to the Narrator go on.  
  
“Things have been rather ... strained, I know.” He drew his hand back from his pocket and rested it flat on the floor. “But -- you see now. I’m so glad.” Stanley averted his gaze from the stars. He was certain the Narrator was too wrapped up in his own bliss to notice the downcast look in his eye and the way his entire body seemed to slump over.   
  
Once there was a lull in his speech, Stanley took the opportunity to act before he could stop himself. He looked up at the ceiling. While the Narrator couldn’t understand sign language, maybe he would get charades. Maybe building up to it would be better. Stanley mimed writing on a sheet of paper with exaggerated hand movements.   
  
“Wait a moment.” The Narrator’s dejected tone made Stanley stop dead in his tracks. “... You’re not doing what I think you are. Are you?” For a moment, he considered lying. It seemed like the ideal move to make. After all, his guard would be down. It would allow Stanley to finally write instead of just having a reset cut him off.  
  
However, Stanley knew that it would just cement the Narrator not trusting him. Any hope of him listening would be dashed. Instead, Stanley simply nodded. His guilt only compounded when he heard a muffled sound. He couldn’t identify what it was, but he knew it wasn’t good.  
  
“If I read what you’re saying, promise me you won’t go into the other room,” the Narrator pleaded. His desperation was palpable. “Promise me that, at least.” Stanley nodded again in response. The Narrator sighed in relief, and Stanley finally took out his lone sheet of paper and the pen. He scooched over towards one of the lights along the rim of the platform, and began to write.

_‘You said we can be happy here, but can we? Can we really? Think about it for a moment. We’d never really have an ending. We don’t END this by being happy. It can only end badly.’_ Stanley moved away so the note could be read.   
  
“Move it a little closer to the light.” Stanley did so. He knew there would have to be quiet pauses while the Narrator read, but he couldn’t help but grip his pen tightly. “Then it doesn’t have to end. We can just stay here.”  
  
Stanley grimaced and signed _‘god damn it’_ to himself. He wouldn’t get anywhere with that. He began to write again.  
  
 _‘Do you think I like killing myself? I don’t like it. I don’t want to. But there’s literally nothing for either of us here.’_  
  
“... You mean you don’t hate my game? Then why do you do it?”  
  
 _‘NO! I don’t hate you either! But there’s no way it can END like this, and the longer I draw it out, the worse it will be for both of us.’_  
  
“I don’t -- Stanley, I -- wait--”   
  
_‘What I’m trying to say is that there’s no resolution anywhere. Anything we learn is just erased no matter how hard we try. Neither of us is really growing! I don’t want to be like this for the rest of my life. I don’t think you want to be, either. Remember what you just said? That this was killing us? There’s a way to stop this. You know it too, and’_ His hands shook violently as he continued to write.  
  
“Stanley, stop. Let me read what you have.” Stanley forced himself to stop. He slid the paper next to the light. Stanley did his best to not write anything else, though he couldn’t stop fiddling with the pen. He had to keep himself occupied. He had to stop himself from getting ahead.   
  
Eventually, he heard his Narrator’s voice.   
  
“... We can’t. We just can’t.” Stanley found himself gaping at the ceiling again. His next reply was short, but the Narrator wouldn’t have trouble reading it.

‘ ** _WHY!?_** ’

“Because -- I -- can’t you just trust me!? I don’t want anything bad to happen to you!” Stanley recoiled when the Narrator lashed out at him, but found his resolve quickly. He shifted the paper so it would be easier to read.  
  
 _‘But you know what’s out there. We can figure things out. We just have to try.’_   
  
There was silence. Then, the Narrator burst out laughing. For a moment, Stanley felt confused. Why was the Narrator laughing? What was there even to laugh at? It was a serious situation. He blinked a few times and shifted the paper.   
  
“Oh, Stanley. Ooooh, Stanley, _Stanley_. You genuinely think I know what’s out there.” Didn’t he, though? The Narrator knew quite a bit; surely he’d know what was outside this game, too. Yet, he kept laughing. Stanley reached over to the paper to continue writing, but after he flipped the page, he paused.  
  
He had no idea what to say to that.  
  
“I know about you. I know about this world, and this office. I know about all the mysteries inside the building, every path you can take. Oh, yes, I know all about that.” The Narrator paused. “I have no clue about what’s beyond that escape pod. It’s an entirely different world out there -- a world not meant for us.”  
  
Something came to him. Stanley began to write again.  
  
 _‘If you don’t know about anything out there, how can you be sure it’s not meant for us?’_ He really hoped that he wouldn’t have to scramble for more paper, but he was running out of room to write. Stanley began to write smaller, though it didn’t help much.  
  
“Tilt it a bit, I can’t see. The words are blending together.” He did so, and waited patiently for the Narrator’s response.  
  
“... I ...”  
  
 _‘I don’t want to be stuck in this building, repeating the same things over and over again. If you’re scared, I understand. So am I. But you wouldn’t be alone out there. We’d figure things out together. Anything out there would be better than this._  
  
 _Do you really want to keep hurting each other? It’s all we’re going to be able to do. Like now: I’d have to jump off that platform again to restart. You’d be hurt, nothing would change, we’d do it all over again. We’d just be a little angrier at each other._  
  
 _I don’t want that.’_  
  
“... I don’t either, Stanley.” Stanley’s eyes widened. “But this is all I know.” Stanley simply underlined two sentences.  
  
‘ _you wouldn’t be alone out there. We’d figure things out together._ ’  
  
He set the pen aside and waited. He had done all he could for now. It was up to the Narrator at this point.  
  
Nothing happened for a while. Stanley let himself admire the light show before him; it helped him remain calm. He kept his arms folded in his lap and away from the pen. He heard something in the background after a while, and let himself focus on that.   
  
Was the Narrator crying? He hadn’t heard this before. Stanley reached out for the paper and jotted a quick note down.  
  
 _‘What’s wrong?’_  
  
“I’m all right.” He was positive that the Narrator could see the exasperated expression on his face. “... Fine. You want the truth? I’m frightened. How do I know you won’t just abandon me for this ... whatever you’re dreaming of?”  
  
 _‘You’re the only one that’s stuck with me for so long. I wouldn’t do that to you. Not when we’re both going to be lost and confused.’_  
  
“You genuinely think this is a good idea?”  
  
 _‘Yes.’_  
  
“Do you promise to stay with me if we leave?”  
  
 _‘Yes.’_  
  
“... I’m putting my trust in you, Stanley. I’ll do it.”  
  
Even as the lights dimmed around him, Stanley found himself grinning ear-to-ear. He managed to finish writing half of his ‘ _thank you_ ’ before the game reset.


	7. Chapter 7

_“Wait there, Stanley. I’m coming down. Do_ not _leave the room.”_  
  
That had been twenty minutes ago. At least, that’s how long it felt. Had it actually been hours? Weeks? Perhaps it had only been minutes. Either way, it didn’t really matter. It wouldn’t never matter again.   
  
Stanley only cared about the fact that he had finally convinced the Narrator that they had to escape. He still wasn’t sure how that happened; the Narrator was the most stubborn voice he had ever known. He let himself mull over it for a time, but decided to let the thought go. At this point, they had won. This would all be behind them very soon.   
  
Stanley forced himself to remain in his seat. His arms were neatly folded in his lap, and he kept his gaze on the blank monitor screen. The flickering green line allowed him to focus. It allowed him to stay put, and to not move as instructed. He would remain calm. He would remain still. He would be the diligent employee one last time.  
  
That train of thought was immediately discarded when he heard footsteps echo down the hall. Stanley all but leapt out of his seat and scrambled to the door. _‘Don’t leave, he might call everything off.’_ He paused at the entrance.   
  
At first, he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. He had assumed the Narrator was a human. Yet, as he strode down the hall, Stanley noticed decidedly non-human attributes. The little skin that wasn’t covered by a sharp suit was a light gray. His black hair was slicked back, and the pitch black hue matched his eyes. There were no pupils; irises; anything. Stanley felt his knees shake as he took a few steps back.  
  
“Goodness, I tell you to not leave, and you almost do so right when I get here,” the Narrator said. He stopped at Employee 428’s door. “... What’s the matter, Stanley? Are you overwhelmed? Because we can easily stop this--”  
  
Stanley quickly shook his head and gestured to his own eyes. The Narrator looked baffled for a moment, but then let out a heavy sigh. “Oh, yes, I see. Not _human_ enough for you. All right, I’ll change it. After all, you’ve made it clear that your comfort comes first.” Stanley frowned and promptly reached for the ever-familiar pencil and paper.   
  
_‘You could have said no to this before. In the space room, I mean. That was my last try before giving up.’_  
  
By the time he turned around to hold out the paper, the Narrator had indeed changed his eyes. While they were only black irises, Stanley felt himself relax just a bit. Anything was better than before. He could actually see the Narrator read what he had written. He could even see the shocked look on his face. Stanley bit back a grin.  
  
“If I had known _that_ , I ... Never mind. What’s done is done. Get some more of that paper, maybe an extra pen. God knows when you’ll be able to find any more.” Stanley complied. He folded the extra paper and tucked it into his back pocket, and then put the extra pen with them.  
  
The Narrator gripped the doorknob tightly, but didn’t open the door. He simply stared at it for a while with a grim expression.  “Take it all in, Stanley. We’re never going to see this again.” Stanley noticed that his tone seemed to waver, almost break. So, he decided to oblige.   
  
Stanley looked around at the office. It did indeed feel odd that he was never going to be in his room again. He’d never walk these halls, choose a door, take another path -- anything. He’d never see ‘outside’, but he’d also never have to jump to his death. He’d never be at the complete mercy of the Narrator, nor would he be at the mercy of his boss’ mind control device.  
  
Actual freedom was within his grasp. He couldn’t really bring himself to feel too nostalgic; whatever was out there had to be better than what was here. Stanley beamed as he looked over at the Narrator, and gave a thumbs-up. He was more than ready to leave.  
  
“Well, I suppose there’s no more delaying it. Let’s see what’s out there, hm?”  
  
The Narrator opened the door and ushered Stanley inside. After one quick glance at the office, he shut the door behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm amazed that I actually managed to finish something.
> 
> Thanks to all of my friends for helping me edit, I missed a LOT and this'd be a mess without you!   
> Thanks to Miomi for bringing up some ideas that helped me improve the plot.
> 
> This was fun! You can expect a lot more TSP from me.


End file.
